


Gifts and Stories

by Proctor



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Fun. Filth. And Feels :), Idiots, M/M, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proctor/pseuds/Proctor
Summary: *It wasn’t as though Jaskier was unfamiliar with Geralt’s smiles, but they tended to be brief and reactive—often at Jaskier’s own expense—and not indicative of an overall mood. Nevertheless, he seemed… pleased, perhaps too pleased. It was a little concerning.“Hello, Geralt,” he said. “You look disconcertingly happy this evening. What is this? Are you having some sort of mid-life crisis?"*Or: Geralt is in a good mood, and Jaskier can't seem to work out why.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 283
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	Gifts and Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fine people!
> 
> I felt the need to write a Happy!Geralt fic -not exactly SunshineAndRainbows!Geralt, you understand, we have to draw a line somewhere after all XD
> 
> Anyway, here is my offering.
> 
> As always, I apologise to my cousins across the pond for any British words or phrases that are unfamiliar.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

Jaskier lay against the pillows in his loose shirt and britches reading a book. He had found it on the dusty single shelf of the inn room that Geralt and he had been inhabiting for the last week or so. Chronicling the misadventures of a dim-witted horse, one might have imagined that it was a children’s book, but it was a rather grizzly read at times, and had all the trappings of a political commentary. Jaskier wasn’t too surprised, it had become a fashionable literary device for masking controversial opinions and avoiding the noose—he’d used the technique himself once to tell the story of a notorious king who had offed all his brothers to get the throne, yet proudly kept their severed heads in a display cabinet in his hallway; the titular character being a pig that wore a crown of bacon.

He was on the last chapter, but suspected it wasn’t going to end well for his equine hero. It had taken him long enough to get that far though, mostly on account of his committed tavern performances since they had arrived in town. In fact, before Geralt left this morning to eliminate his contracted wyvern beyond the hill, he had implored him to stay in today and take the time for some well-deserved rest—well, not in so many words. What he actually said was:

_"Get some sleep, Jaskier. You look worse than the things I’m paid to kill."_

_“That bad, eh?”_

_“Mm,” Geralt nodded. “If you go out like that, you may be mistaken for one and end up with a bounty on your head.”_

_“Aww, are you worried about me, Geralt?”_

_“Quite the opposite.”_

_“Oh? Why is that?”_

_“Because I’ll be the one collecting it,” Geralt smirked._

_Jaskier laughed into the pillow then picked it up and threw it at him._

Just then, he heard footsteps on the stairs outside the room, quiet but distinct. Geralt had returned later than he had expected, and if there had been a complication today, he wouldn’t be in the best of spirits.

The handle turned with a rusty squeak.

Geralt opened the door and walked into the room, closing it behind him with the heel of his muddy black leather boot. He had his silver sword on his back, his pack slung over his shoulder, and a… smile on his face.

It wasn’tas though Jaskier was unfamiliar with Geralt’s smiles, but they tended to be brief and reactive—often at Jaskier’s own expense—and not indicative of an overall mood. Nevertheless, he seemed… pleased, perhaps _too_ pleased. It was a little concerning.

“Hello, Geralt,” he said. “You look disconcertingly happy this evening. What is this? Are you having some sort of mid-life crisis? Do I have to worry about you getting a questionable tattoo and buying a bakery?”

Geralt retained his knowing smile and, ignoring his question, stated: “I killed a wyvern.” 

It was odd. He said it as though it were a unique experience despite having disposed of plenty in the past, and as if it were purely incidental (like he’d bumped into one while searching for the privy and thought he might make an oren or two while he was at it) when it was in fact the singular reason for them being here. Still, not wanting to diminish Geralt’s cheer, Jaskier tried to remain positive. “Okay. Good. Well, you did your job, didn’t die a gruesome death, and have come back just in time for me to relay the latest adventures of a horse. I think you won life today, Geralt.”

“I found a ring in its belly,” Geralt continued, taking off his gloves and tossing them on the worn oak trestle table then propping his sword against it.

 _Ew._ Jaskier didn’t even want to know why Geralt was rummaging about in its innards, so he didn’t ask. “I _see_. Well, I’m sure it’ll look just _lovely_ on you. When you’ve removed the viscera from it, at least.”

Geralt took off his boots. “It bore the insignia of a local noble family. Distant relatives of the Queen.”

“Hang on. Is this that thing we do where you offer me brief sequential plot points at a frustratingly slow pace and I try to guess the ending before you finish so we can all have tea?” Jaskier asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully, then put his book aside, sat up with a grin, and clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! Love that game! Okay, let’s seeeee. The ring was…cursed! No, then you wouldn’t be smiling and might look like a walrus… Wait, wait. You put it on, and a godly voice spoke, whispering in the wind, bestowing upon you the greatest knowledge yet known to man: the meaning… of life itself. Or something. Ancient wisdom? The recipe for that strange grey pudding they serve in The Gull?”

Geralt smiled. “I returned it to its owner,” he answered, simply but definitively.

Jaskier was silent, just in case there was something further to be added… _buuut, no._ “Right. Good story. If I might, however, offer some… constructive feedback at this time.” He cleared his throat. “Strong start, loved the ambiguity over the _precise_ wyvern we were talking about. Nice background details on the ring. But the ending? Needs work. I’m rather hoping there’s a satisfying epilogue.”

“There is. He paid me.”

“Ahh! See, _now_ it all makes sense,” Jaskier said, slapping his hand on his thighs. “You could have just said: ‘someone paid me for a ring I found’ though.”

Geralt raised a cocky eyebrow. “Then you’d have missed all the suspense.”

Jaskier laughed. “Ha! True. Oh, Geralt. It’s the way you tell ‘em.”

Geralt was satisfied with the ending of his story. Perhaps it lacked the gravity of a voice from beyond, or the peril of a curse, but he could do without either. Instead, he had cold hard coin, an ample, unexpected windfall, and none too soon. His last kill was three weeks ago, and it didn’t pay well. Farmers, terrorised by wolves and short on money due to their slaughtered livestock, had a whip-round to scrape together a paltry sum for his services—supplemented with a live chicken. He’d almost refused to take it—the coin that was—but he had little choice, times were bad, their funds were low, and they needed somewhere to sleep and…something to eat. Jaskier, sentimental fool that he was, had named the chicken Fluffy. Geralt had wanted to cook Fluffy. Jaskier had wanted to set Fluffy free. There was a trading of words, and not all were civilised; cases were stated, lines were drawn, ultimatums were posed, and that night they ate squirrel, and a solitary chicken roamed the wheat fields in search of a new life…

Geralt smiled to himself.

“Come on then, Geralt, empty your pockets,” Jaskier said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Let’s see what a gunge-covered family heirloom gets you these days.”

Geralt first took a small, dirty leather pouch from the back of his belt, held it up in the air for emphasis, and placed it on the table, the coins inside giving a light clink.

“Your monster-killing payment,” Jaskier acknowledged.

Geralt reached behind again, but this time paused for dramatic effect, looked up at Jaskier with a tiny curl of his lips, and gave a playful jump of his eyebrows. Jaskier laughed, grinning at the gesture, perhaps even blushing. _Cheeky devil._

Geralt untied a second pouch from his belt, this one large and made of red velvet, a gold cord threaded through the neck. He held it up again then dropped it beside the first, a great dull clunk echoing in the room with the weight of its contents.

“Oh-ho!” Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. “Assuming that bag isn’t filled with the lowest denomination of oren or your nobles’ personal collection of iron balls, it sounds like we’re rich! Are we rich, Geralt?”

“I’m rich. You’re as poor as you were five minutes ago.”

“Aww.”

“Yet still richer than you’ll be tomorrow,” he added, “once you’ve paid for the room.”

“Oooh, you brute!”

Geralt was only teasing though. Asides from the fact that, while generous, the sum did not make him ‘rich’, he knew that it would provide food and board for both of them, perhaps that of a better standard than they had been accustomed to of late, or at the very least, a bed Jaskier wouldn’t criticise the hygiene of (though that was hard to find). Jaskier would know this too, but he still played along.

“Ah, probably for the best. I’d only spend it on frivolous things I don’t need.”

“I’ve saved you the trouble,” Geralt said, and this was the moment he’d been waiting for. He reached into his pack, glass clinking as he ferreted around, then pulled out a tall, dark, dust-covered bottle.

Jaskier jutted his neck out, eyes wide with surprise. Geralt had… _bought him_ something. Not just paid for it either, but _chosen_ it, specifically for him. It was obviously wine, but it may as well have been a gilded palace, for the gesture was just as grand. “Geralt? Is this… a present?”

Geralt twitched at the word. It sounded so treacly, especially the way Jaskier said it. He straightened his back and gave a dignified lift of his jaw. “It is an item given without the expectation of payment or reward, yes.”

“Ha! Of course it is, Geralt, of course it is. Gosh. You never give me _anything!_ …Except a headache and a recurring sense of impending disaster, that is.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Just as well we _like_ each other so much then. Bring it over here.”

Geralt walked slowly over to the bed, dragging his feet a little. He didn’t know how to give gifts, mostly because he didn’t normally purchase them, and yet as soon as he left the estate with the velvet purse in his possession, he instinctively knew the first thing he was going to buy.

===

_On the first day in town, Jaskier sat on the rickety stool in their room reading a book he’d happened upon (some drivel about a pony). Geralt had noticed him glancing up every few minutes, and knew that there was something he wanted to say; he had been doing it on and off ever since they’d bickered over the chicken. No. Just after that. Ever since they had talked about how little money they had. Both were used to it, times of hardship, but Geralt had never expressed the concern over it that he had that night._

_Jaskier put a scrap of paper in his book to keep his page, gently placed it on the floor, and looked at Geralt with a steady gaze. For a moment he was silent, playing with his nails. “You know, I could always pay my family a visit.”_

_“Missing home?” Geralt asked with a wry smile, knowing that there was no love lost between Jaskier and the majority of his kin._

_“You understand that when I say ‘pay my family a visit’, it means ‘ask them for money’, don’t you? It’s a thing. You do it too, like when you secretly yearn to make passionate love to me in the moonlight, but instead of dowsing us in darkness, crawling upon me, and seductively whispering: ‘I want you’, you grumble: ‘Blow out the fucking candle, Jaskier, I’m trying to sleep.’”_

_Geralt chuckled. “That’s what I’m doing, is it? I had no idea I was so transparent. Tell me, do we ever fuck after I say that?”_

_“Well…no. I’m aware of the meaning though, I just choose not to indulge you on such occasions.”_

_“Right.”_

_“In any case, you need only say the word, and I’ll make the trip.” Jaskier then laughed. “I doubt I’ll receive a warm welcome of course! But I suspect they’ll pay me to bugger off so that they can get back to their lobster,’ he said, before adding, with a less convincing smile, “they have before, after all.”_

_Geralt shook his head. “No, Jaskier.”_

===

Geralt stopped at Jaskier’s bedside and proffered the bottle without ceremony; he let him take it then folded his arms, slouching at the hip, posturing indifference. He waited. One, two, and-

“ _This!_ ” Jaskier shrilled in disbelief. “This is it! This is the Toussaintois claret I’ve been wanting to get my hands on!” He turned the bottle around, wiping away the dust and inspecting it, then gave another small squeak. “It’s even… It’s even the right year! I can’t believe you bought it! I can’t believe you even remembered!”

Geralt was pleased with the reaction; it was a little noisy, but he liked it. He gave a shrug. “You speak of it often enough.”

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I try not to.”

“I don’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have? No no, you _absolutely_ should—I’m lovely and deserve nice things, I just…” Jaskier paused and narrowed his eyes, suddenly looking Geralt up and down warily. “W-wait… this isn’t part of some elaborate plot to kill me, is it? That’s not why you’re being so friendly? You haven’t poisoned it, have you?”

“If I were going to kill you, Jaskier, I’d come up with something a little more… imaginative,” Geralt replied, giving a mildly ominous twist of his lips.

“Excellent!” Jaskier chirped. “That is both highly reassuring and deeply unsettling!”

“I’ve been described that way before.”

“And you wear it well, Geralt you wear. it. well.” Jaskier looked around the room for something to decant it into, but there was nothing, the wooden cups in their room had been so filthy that they had been drinking straight out of the water-jug.“I don’t have any cups up here, and certainly no golden chalices, but I’m too impatient to wait. Shall we swig some out the bottle like drunken peasants?”

“Are you suggesting you don’t normally behave like a drunken peasant?”

“Goodness no, Geralt. Only that the usual swill I find myself drinking warrants such behaviour.”

_===_

_On the second day in town, Jaskier went to one of the local taverns to perform in the afternoon. He didn’t say which one, but apparently, he wasn’t thrown out, heckled, or attacked with edible food supplies, and thus considered it, in his words, ‘a place of potentially non-hostile opportunity’, and decided to play there again in the evening when it would be busier._

_When he returned, he said what a good chat he’d had with the owner, an old seadog with a ‘most fascinating’ wooden leg that he had hollowed out and stashed with a purportedly potent hallucinogenic herb that made him see ghost-fish._

_“Ghost- **fish** ?_ _” Jaskier said he’d asked him, “Not ghost-sharks or ghost-squid or ghost-crabs?”_

_“Nope. Just the fish.”_

_“Right. Wow. Well that’s_ ** _ **incredibly** _ ** _…umm…specific?”_

_“Want some?”_

_“Ehh. No thanks. Not really big on ghosts, gilled or otherwise.”_

_Among his collection of stories and observations, Jaskier once again, and rather oddly, remarked on what a‘ refreshingly tame’ drinking establishment it was, and it was only when they turned in for the night, and Geralt, a little curious, asked him how many patrons there had been, that Jaskier finally revealed the reason for its peaceful atmosphere: it was because it was empty._

_===_

With great effort—enough that Geralt almost offered assistance but stopped himself so that the victory was not his own—Jaskier tugged and twisted at the cork until it finally loosened with a low pop. Jaskier inhaled the cork deeply, briefly closing his eyes, then took the tiniest of sips, swirling it around his mouth, before gently swallowing and smacking his lips appreciatively.

“Mmm. That, Geralt, is the nectar of the Gods.” He handed the bottle to Geralt who looked at it, shrugged, and to Jaskier’s horror, took a large, noisy glug then swallowed hard. He wiped a crimson dribble from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand, inclined his head thoughtfully to the side, and said: “Hm. Don’t like it.”

Jaskier tentatively reached out and took the bottle from him, clutching it close to his chest to protect it from manhandling and insult. He looked down at it then gave an impish smile as an idea occurred to him. “Well, that’s because you’re not drinking it from the right vessel.”

“A golden chalice would make it more palatable, would it?”

“Not _that_ vessel,” he replied, then took a swig of wine and moved in close.

Geralt felt Jaskier’s hand slide up the back of his neck and grasp his hair at the roots, gently tugging on it to urge his head back. He wasn’t sure what Jaskier was up to, but trusted that he knew better than to do anything that risked negative repercussions.

Mischievous eyes gazed at him from above, cropped hair tickled his brow as they grew closer, and Geralt’s eyelids instinctively drifted shut as small closed lips covered his own. A thumb pressed into the cleft of his chin, prising him open, and the moment he gave in to it, he felt warm liquid begin to spill into his mouth.

He remained still at first, letting it fill him, tasting the spice of it on his tongue, but soon started swallowing it in small but loud gulps.

Jaskier trailed one hand down Geralt’s throat.

The sounds of Geralt drinking from him paired with the movement of his large adam’s apple bobbing beneath his fingers caused a fluttering heat in Jaskier’s belly, somewhere between thrill and arousal.

He deposited the last of it, feeling Geralt’s throat relax, and gently retreated a half-inch from his lips.

“I liked it better that time,” Geralt said softly, and Jaskier grinned, whispering back:

“That’s because it tasted of _me_.”

Geralt gave an amused scoff at Jaskier’s shameless over-confidence, and sat up, untangling the fingers from his hair. “That was… new,” he said, “…though obviously not for you,” he added, hinting at a question without asking one, curious to know where he’d learned it, and why, in all the time that they had indulged this tryst of theirs, he had not thought to do it before.

“Someone did it to me once. That’s all. Had circumstances been different, I might have considered it erotic. As it was, I don’t remember who they were—I was a bit drunk at the time… actually I was completely rat-arsed—but what I do remember is that it was cheap ale, and a lot of it too; I choked, I staggered, I threw up, and I passed out in a bush …or at least, I woke up in one.”

“Lovely.”

“Not for me _or_ my unnamed partner. Nor for the bush, I dare say.”

“Hm. And this time?”

“This time, I’m tingly.”

Geralt smiled and shook his head. He _had_ asked, he should have been prepared for the heart-on-sleeve answer given, it was Jaskier after all, but as usual, he had no reply for such a response, and so remained silent…

===

_On the third day in town, Jaskier returned home late at night._

_“Playing for your sailor again?” Geralt asked._

_“No, no. I thought I’d see what the other taverns were like. There are four, you know. One of the benefits of staying in town I suppose_ — _that and those little honey cakes that have become so popular, you know, the ones with the raisins?"_

_“Are you sure they’re raisins?”_

_“Well, you’re right, they do look a bit like…euch…I hope they’re raisins. Anyway, I decided to give each tavern the chance to impress me, and the one I liked the most would be the one I performed at for the remainder of our stay.”_

_“Sound strategy.”_

_“I thought so,” Jaskier grinned._

_“You’ll have chosen one then.”_

_“Yes. One on the east side of town. Hideous decor, horrid ale, but it’s large and attracts the crowds. Mercenaries, some of them, bit of a broody lot really_ — _not that I’m unused to it. Hang on, there’s a thought, you could come with me and brood together in silence while making occasional and uncomfortable eye-contact with one another.”_

_“Tempting, Jaskier, but no.”_

===

Geralt watched as Jaskier replaced the cork and held the bottle in his hands, looking at it affectionately. He took the moment to let his gaze drift over him, over his soft brown hair, sticking up wildly at the back where it had been squashed to the pillow; over his blue eyes, darkened but shimmering in the candlelight; and over his thin but expressive lips, currently pulled into a small, endearing smile. He hadn’t really noticed them tonight until now, in fact, despite having seen Jaskier’s features hundreds of times before, he’d never really noticed how content they made him feel.

“What’s that face for?” Jaskier tittered, looking up at him.

“What face?

“Like you’ve never seen such a strange and wonderful creature before.”

_Geralt had clearly made himself too obvious._

“I’ve just never seen a head of hair that took such personal umbrage with the notion of gravity,” he replied.

Jaskier laughed and ran his hand through it, taming the vertical strands; he set the wine on the floor then clambered into his lap, wrapping his legs around his waist and loosely draping his arms around his shoulders. The contact spread warmth through Geralt where Jaskier nestled between his thighs, but he could scarcely feel the remainder of it through his leather jerkin. He considered taking it off, but it might appear presumptuous at this point, so he did nothing.

Jaskier waited for Geralt to make a move, to do something, anything, that may indicate a desire for him. It had been a while since they were intimate, over a month at least, but after sharing their ‘kiss’ (in a private room, on a bed, no less), one would likely come to certain conclusions as to how they might proceed. But not Geralt. Jaskier could clamber from his lap right now, say ‘ _thanks for the wine, old chum, I’m off for some kip_ ’, and Geralt would shrug and leave it at that. So, once again, the duty of seduction fell to him.

He tossed his head back so that when he looked down his fringe could fall back over his eye enticingly—it fell _into_ his eye, and he blinked awkwardly, scraping his hair back then coughing politely. “You know…” he began, dropping his voice to what he imagined to be a sensual low burble, “…despite requiring no ‘payment or reward’ for your ‘item given…’” he continued, breaking one arm free to run his hand, spread-fingered, down Geralt’s jerkin “…perhaps there is a way I might… you know, ‘ _express my gratitude_ ’” he finished, adding a suggestive hike of his eyebrows.

Geralt gave a chuckle followed by a cringing groan.

“Wha—?! I’m flirting with you, Geralt. You’re supposed to like it!”

Geralt did like it a little, though perhaps more because it amused him than because it aroused him.“So that’s what that was. I thought you required medical attention.”

“Oh, come now. My flirting isn’t _that_ bad,” Jaskier complained, but the offence dropped from his face, and he glanced from side to side then wrinkled his nose and asked quietly: “It’s not, is it?”

“Are you asking me as a friend or as a bed-partner?”

“Friend.”

“Bad.”

Jaskier scrunched his face up. “bed-partner then.”

“Also bad.”

“Well, _that_ was a bloody pointless exchange then, wasn’t it?” Jaskier declared, lifting his arms and dropping them by his sides in defeat. “You shouldn’t have bothered with a choice if the answer was the same.”

“But then you’d have missed all—”

“—The suspense. Yes, yes. I know.”

Geralt grinned, pulling him in close, but Jaskier gave him a playful shove and crawled from his lap, flopping onto the bed and toeing him with his bare feet. Geralt took one foot and held it still, stroking the arch of it with his thumb. He didn’t want the evening to end with Jaskier in a huff, even a silly one. He’d had a plan for tonight, or rather, he’d had something he wanted to do, but in honesty… wasn’t sure how to go about doing it.

“I don’t need your gratitude,” he said. And he didn’t. “But if you otherwise feel a need to demonstrate your…ardour, you could always…” Geralt paused, looking for a tactful term, “…service me with your mouth.”

Apparently Jaskier found this choice of phrasing rather amusing as he threw his head back with a loud guffaw. “Ha-ha! Well, owing to my penchant for continuous verbal expression, Geralt, technically, I ‘service you with my mouth’ every day.”

“That’s not a service, Jaskier, it’s an auditory violation,” Geralt teased, then looked down at the bedcover, pausing as he chose his next words. There was a reason he had suggested this act specifically, and it wasn’t because he desired it for himself. “Perhaps, I might even… return the favour.”

Jaskier’s mouth dropped and he gawped at him. _Geralt couldn’t be serious._ “I’m sorry. I must have misheard you. Did you just offer to perform oral sex on me?”

“Maybe.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. “Assuming that _is_ what you’re suggesting, I would like to take this moment to point out that never, _not once_ , during our sexual exploits—which, I might add, have been much and varied—have you ever offered me this. In fact, I believe you said—and for the purposes of clarity and emphasis, quote: ‘ _I don’t suck cock._ ’”

Geralt didn’t need to be told, he knew it was true. They fucked, they played, they fumbled, but while Jaskier had performed this task countless times on him, he had never reciprocated. The first time it had been suggested, he was adamant in his refusal, having neither the experience nor the inclination to do such a thing. But that was a while ago, circumstances were a little different now, and this seemed like a small compromise in the grander scheme of things.

“Perhaps it’s time I learned.”

 _Perhaps it’s time I learned?_ Jaskier repeated in his head. One might assume that, like the wine, this generosity was simply the product of Geralt’s happiness at his good fortune, and yet _this_ wording implied an investment of sorts—after all, one doesn’t learn something only to immediately discard such knowledge, but rather, so that they can apply it thereafter.

He scrutinised Geralt, just to be sure he hadn’t missed something, a tell that he might be bewitched, or drunk, or mad, but he saw none, only… softness—perhaps not doe-eyed cherishment exactly, but the closest to it that Geralt could realistically display without looking like an imposter, and Jaskier wondered what he had done to deserve such an expression. Still, the reasons didn’t really matter, he was just glad to have received the offer, and beamed at him.

“Well, I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, Geralt, but far be it from me to look a gift-horse in the mouth. Especially when that mouth is willing to envelop my genitals.”

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt complained.

“In any case, I’m happy to help you improve your technique.”

“I have no technique.”

“Well, a blank page is better to write on than a partially filled one.”

Geralt squinted. “That’s… not a phrase, Jaskier.”

“It is now. Quotable for a price, of course,” Jaskier babbled, starting to feel a tad nervous, and why was beyond him. This may be new, but lots of things they did were new, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had his cock sucked plenty of times before. But this was...Geralt. And it was something Geralt didn’t do. He gulped. “I’m sorry. I am _embarrassingly_ aroused right now.”

“I can see that,” Geralt said, eyeing up the tent in his britches. “Makes things easier, no?”

“Too easy, I might spill before I have the chance to teach you anything more than how to take someone’s trousers off.”

“I already know how to do that,” Geralt smirked, running his palm over Jaskier’s clothed erection then slowly unbuttoning him.

“Yes you do, you definitely do…”

===

 _On both the fourth and the fifth day in town, despite Jaskier’s plan to pick a single venue, he continued to play at all four taverns, one after the other. It wasn’t a few songs in each either, he left before midday and didn’t return until late, so one could only assume that he had graced them with his full repertoire (which meant they’d undoubtedly had to listen to the one about the three-legged goat_ — _multiple times if they were regular customers. Poor bastards.)_

_Geralt didn’t do the rounds with him, but joined him for supper each night in the third tavern where a barmaid had taken a shine to them both and served them stew, free of charge._

_“Must be nice ‘aving songs written about you,” the barmaid told him._

_Geralt gave an unenthusiastic ‘mm’._

_“He loves it really, don’t you, Geralt?” Jaskier grinned, “Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”_

_“Indeed,” Geralt remarked dully. “My tone and expression being a mere facade to belie the ‘warmth and fuzziness’ that I truly feel.”_

_“Well, I fink it’s grand. Tales of an ‘ero. Very romantic. Me own man cleans out the castle cesspits.”_

_“...”_

_“Well, I suspect that takes it’s own sort of bravery, ma’am,” Jaskier reassured, breaking the silence and looking at him as if to say: ‘See. Could be worse.’_

_After their meal, Geralt would then return to the inn and wouldn’t see Jaskier again until much later, when the streets were quiet, and no longer filled with the sounds of vomiting tavern-dwellers._

_He was regaled with stories every evening, some outrageous, some scandalous, and some just plain bizarre. One thing however, remained the same:_

_At some point before they went to bed, Jaskier would wander past the chipped oak table in their room; he would briefly pause, place a small pile of coins on it then turn to him, give a gentle smile, and quietly say: “a little for the kitty.”_

===

As soon as Geralt took Jaskier’s britches down, the heady smell of male arousal hit him, and his own cock became engorged with blood at the scent. Jaskier’s, as eager as promised, sprang up the moment it was freed and slapped lightly against his belly, the wet on the tip making a small glistening dot on his skin. Geralt pushed Jaskier’s shirt up to his chest and surveyed his erection; its slight upward curve, its short pink head, and considered how he was going to do this. He must have been staring a bit too long though, because Jaskier gave an anxious little wriggle then spoke.

“Ahem. So this is my cock. You’re already well-acquainted, I know, but I believe you will get along just famously under these new circumstances. He’s easily pleased, so don’t worry about doing anything fancy. He likes all manner of sucks, licks and kisses, but he doesn’t like teeth.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Geralt smiled, and Jaskier felt a little embarrassed because despite Geralt’s inexperience, he’d probably had his cock sucked a lot more than him and was already aware of the threat teeth posed. Still. Worth mentioning.

“I only say it because I know how sharp your incisors are, and it would be a shame for both of us if I spent the rest of the evening complaining and in distress.”

“That’s how you spend most of your evenings.”

“Hmm. Well, not _exactly_ true, but not _exactly_ untrue either,” he mused.

Jaskier then pulled his cock from his tummy and held it upright by the base so that it was pointing at the ceiling. He waited a few moments, eyes moving shiftily from side to side, then reached out with his other hand to Geralt’s head. Geralt shot him a cautioning look and he quickly snatched it back. “Yes. No. Quite right. I’ll just… lie here and let you proceed at your own pace.”

Geralt replaced Jaskier’s hand with his own around the root, threading his fingers into his thick pubic hair, and leaned down. The scent was stronger this close. He pressed the shaft against his cheek and turned his head gradually, until his left nostril was squashed into it, then inhaled deeply.

Jaskier blinked in awe. He’d never had his cock sniffed before, and suddenly felt a little self-conscious.

“Just so you know, I usually shove a bit of perfume down there. Or lavender oil, or rose, I do like a floral willy.”

“I prefer this smell.”

Jaskier nodded slowly as if in understanding, but then shook it and asked: “Which is… what exactly?”

“Cock.”

He let out a short breathy laugh. “Okay, yes. Bit of a stupid question really,” he said, but felt Geralt smile against him, the humour clearly not lost on him.

Geralt retreated slightly, eyeing a larger drip of pre-come that was weeping from Jaskier’s slit, and wondered if it would taste as potent. He gripped him a little tighter then opened his mouth and slowly ran the flat of his tongue over the tip in one long lick. He heard Jaskier’s breath hitch above him. The taste of the liquid was subtle, like seawater, but the taste of his skin was far stronger: soap and sweat and sex. He licked a second time, a third, a fourth, and continued to gently lave over him.

Jaskier watched Geralt both curiously and adoringly. He never thought he would see this sight, but it was more than he could have hoped for. His expectation had been that Geralt would be quick and industrious, after all, he had pleasured him with his hand that way for the longest time, and it was a while before he started experimenting with anything short of a ‘let’s get this done’ attitude. Yet here he was, slowly and indulgently licking his cock. It was a little funny to see however; he looked like a child licking the last remnants of gravy off a plate, but he did a variation of it to Geralt when he wanted to get a good taste of him, and it required the full area of his tongue to cover the entirety of Geralt’s fat cockhead—his, not so much, but it was still appreciated.

“Mmm. That’s lovely…” Jaskier sighed softly then grinned. “Tickles a bit though.”

In response, Geralt administered a feather-light but rapid flick of his tongue, and Jaskier giggled, legs twitching. “Stop that, you cheeky thing.”

Geralt decided to stop teasing him, and instead, lowered himself, and in one swift motion, took the crown of his cock into his mouth and gave it a firm, wet suck. The giggles had amused him, but the moan that came from Jaskier just then, was far more gratifying. He began moving his lips up and down over the head in small slurps, wet pops sounding in the room whenever he pulled off too abruptly after a harder suck.

“...Oooh, that’s good…I like that…it sounds nice and filthy too…”

Geralt didn’t need the encouraging words, but Jaskier often liked to verbalise his enjoyment (even if only to himself), so he let him babble away as he began inching his lips down his length a little at a time. It actually fit rather well in his mouth, and while he could feel spit dribbling down his chin, he wasn’t struggling in the way he had expected (Jaskier had nearly choked on his cock the first time he’d sucked it), so feeling a little bold, he took the whole thing inside, right to the back of his throat, until his lips were buried in a nest of coarse pubic hair.

“Oh, Gods!” Jaskier called out with a gasp, and Geralt was pleased with the reaction so withdrew right to the tip and swallowed him whole again.

“...That’s…keep doing that…keep…”

Geralt did, and the more he did, the faster and more easily he was able to do it, until he was taking him in and out of his mouth smoothly and briskly.

Jaskier could feel his climax building, and if the the sight of Geralt’s reddening lips wrapped around his cock and the sounds of sloppy wet sucks wasn’t enough, the knowledge that he would soon spill in Geralt’s mouth, filling it with liquid for the second time tonight—his own liquid—ensured a prompt release.

“...I’m going to…Geralt…I’m going to…” he warned.

Geralt looked up at him, dark yellow eyes on his, cock firmly in his mouth, unshaven cheeks hollowed—and that was all it took to finish him off. He came with a breathy moan, his orgasm pulsing through him rhythmically, each wave ejecting a spurt of seed up into Geralt’s mouth.

He threw his head back on the pillow, closed his eyes and grinned as he tried to catch his breath, feeling the pressure of Geralt’s lips disappear.

“...Well, you may not… have much experience… in this field…” he puffed, “but I have to say, that was absolutely wonderful. I admit…I didn’t know…what to expect… but you truly applied yourself, Geralt. Truly surpri-” There was silence. “Geralt?”

He opened his eyes and looked at Geralt who was sitting up on his knees, his brow furrowed confusedly, his lips pressed together, and his cheeks slightly puffed.

It took Jaskier a few seconds to understand what was going on, but when he did, a spluttered laugh burst from his mouth.

_Geralt didn’t know whether to spit or swallow._

Jaskier closed his eyes again to try and compose himself, but when he opened them, the display was no less sweet and ridiculous, and he started laughing again with renewed vigour.

There was a small, sulky ‘mmf’ above him, then something seemed to dawn on Geralt, and he dropped onto his hands and knees and crawled over him.

“Geralt,” he giggled, “Where are you going with all that? Eh? Taking it to the market? What are you up to?”

As soon as their faces were a few inches apart, Geralt suddenly swooped down and crushed his closed lips roughly into Jaskier’s, the force of it pushing his head deep into the pillow beneath. A callused thumb and index finger grasped his chin tightly and pulled, and it was then that Jaskier realised the intent behind this: he was mirroring their earlier wine-exchange, albeit under far cruder circumstances. Hesitantly, he parted his lips a fraction, and Geralt slowly began to empty a warmed, gooey, and plentiful combination of spit and spend into his mouth. He swallowed thickly as it was fed to him, tasting the tang of himself. On the final gulp, Geralt withdrew, smiling down at him with a dribble of saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth to the bottom of his chin.

Jaskier reached up and wiped it away, grinning.

“Gosh, that was a bit salacious, Geralt. I liked it though.”

“That’s because it tasted of _you_ ,” Geralt mocked.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Jaskier declared with the faux arrogance Geralt was no doubt expecting before dropping the tone to something a little more modest. “What about you?” he asked quietly, “What did you think?”

Geralt seemed to consider it for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t serve it to dinner guests.”

Jaskier laughed. “I was referring more to the act itself than the product of it.”

“It was…” Geralt wasn’t sure how to best describe the experience so settled for: “…harmless.”

“Ha! What an interesting choice of adjective! Well, I’m ever so glad my cock poses no acute threat to the world!” 

“Debatable.”

“Heh, perhaps. Now then, let’s see about you.”

“I’m getting a turn too, am I?” he asked, as if he had been patiently waiting on the offer, when in fact, he hadn’t at all.

“I can’t let _you_ have all the fun, can I?”

===

_On the sixth day in town, Jaskier placed the money on the table as usual. He looked tired, his eyes a little puffy, his movements a little sluggish, yet his attitude remained positive and upbeat, and without looking at him, you’d never have known the difference, so Geralt didn’t mention it._

_It wasn’t the only thing he had noticed though. When Jaskier returned, he always seemed rather sober, at most with the buzz one gets from a few watered-down tankards of ale. Jaskier was notorious for running up huge bar tabs (Geralt often had to settle them before they left town, so that if they ever came back, they weren’t immediately and aggressively escorted off the premises), but so far as he knew, there was nothing to pay._

_He noticed that he never brought home any clothes or trinkets. Jaskier loved it when they had a job in town, because it gave him the chance to buy things unavailable to him in the more rural areas; gold rings, rare books, fine silk braies (which admittedly felt nice on Geralt’s skin when they shared a bed). But Jaskier had bought nothing since they had arrived._

_And he noticed that he never smelled like cheap perfume. They both used the local ‘services’ in town from time to time, it was quick and easy, and Geralt found it useful for gathering information while Jaskier found it useful for gathering stories._

_“I hear Hairy Hanna’s working the Rosebloom,” Jaskier had told him. “Bush like a musk ox, they say.”_

_“That does something for you, does it, Jaskier?” Geralt had smiled._

_“Not in the slightest, but it’d be a hell of sight to see, eh? Apparently the duke lost his dentures in it. Never to be seen again. And if_ **_**that** _**_isn’t song-writing material then I don’t know what is.”_

_…But Jaskier had no such stories to tell this last week._

_“You’re keeping enough coin for wine and whores, I expect,’ Geralt said, nodding at the pile of coins._

_“Of course I am, Geralt! Why, I give you a mere_ ** _ **fraction** _**_of my wealth. A gesture of goodwill, if you will,” he announced with gusto. “I’ve also happened upon a group of prostitutes who’ll line up and show you their arses for five orens each,’ he winked, then frowned in befuddlement. “What_ **_**is** _**_the collective noun for prostitutes anyway. A crowd? A troupe? A gaggle…?”_

_“That’s geese, Jaskier.”_

===

Geralt and Jaskier knelt on the bed opposite each other, Jaskier muttering to himself as he undid Geralt’s jerkin.

“Just _look_ at you. I can’t _believe_ you still have all this garb on.”

Geralt smiled down at him and, seeing him struggle, started to help with the trickier little clasps and ties. “I didn’t expect our activities to escalate so quickly.”

“You call that _quick_?” Jaskier complained, “I’ve seen wounded _slugs_ approach sex more expeditiously than you.”

“Well, maybe the lady-slugs don’t chatter as much.”

Jaskier gave Geralt a light, reprimanding thwack on the arm and removed the garment. He untucked the black shirt from Geralt’s britches then tapped his elbows to have him raise his arms so he could take it off. “I know you don’t have to be fully naked for this,” he said, before Geralt got the chance to comment on it.

“But?”

“...But I like it when you are,” he replied, and gave him a wink.

“Reason enough,” Geralt remarked, and to demonstrate his agreement, pulled Jaskier’s cotton shirt up over his head then reached down to unbutton himself.

“Ah-ta-ta.” Jaskier flicked Geralt’s fingers out the way and undid them with his own. He pushed the leather down to his knees and grinned at the large erection he was greeted with. “Well well, sucking my cock my be ‘harmless’ but I see that it’s not without results. Take these off, Geralt.”

Geralt pulled off his britches so that they were both nude then knelt in front of him again. He watched as Jaskier sat down, shifting into a cross-legged position before grasping him, licking his lips, and lowering his head; he briefly but pointedly sniffed his shaft and, looking up at him with a smile, simply stated: “cock” then took the tip in his mouth and gave it a suck.

Geralt gave a soft ‘mm’ and ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, clutching it at the back and guiding his head back and forward on his length, knowing fine well that it was a privilege he had over Jaskier, at least for the time being. Jaskier took it in his stride though, swallowing him deeply and enthusiastically, over and over.

Geralt suddenly pulled Jaskier’s mouth from his cock, holding him by the hair and smiling at the wide-eyed, opened-mouthed expression of wonderment.

“Wha?” Jaskier sounded, unable to complete the word with a slack jaw. Geralt gripped his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed then crawled over him, holding down his wrists on either side of his head.

Jaskier caught only a glimpse of the mischievous look above him before Geralt bent down to his ear and, with husky voice that vibrated through his chest and danced on the tips of his nipples, rumbled: “I want you.”

Jaskier laughed softly with surprise, remembering that it was a reference to a remark he’d made earlier in the week, something that he had presumed to be so inconsequential to Geralt that the reminder had alarmed him. He pressed his cheek to Geralt’s, grinning, and whispered back: “I want you too.”

Geralt raised his head to look at him, and was gratified to see how pleased Jaskier was with the attention he’d paid to their conversation. He drew a hand from one wrist to spit in his palm, and without retreating or breaking eye-contact reached down and spread the saliva over his own cock. Jaskier slid his legs out from under him and wrapped them comfortably around the backs of his knees, but jerked his head in an upward motion.

“Hm? What is it?” Geralt asked suspiciously. “You want a kiss?”

“I _had_ wanted to make a contribution of spit, but that’s before I knew kisses were on the table.”

“They might be.”

“I’ll take the kiss then.”

Geralt thought about it then reached his palm under Jaskier’s mouth. “Spit first. Kiss later.”

“Deal.” Jaskier spat delicately into the waiting hand beneath, a string of it unwilling to break free from his puckered lips. Geralt scooped it up, roughly drying Jaskier’s mouth with the back of his hand then added his slithery offering to his cock. Jaskier raised his legs a little and Geralt moved in closer, gripping himself and sliding his tip up between Jaskier’s buttocks until he found the dip of his entrance. He gave a slow, gentle push, and Jaskier knitted his brow and made a drawn-out groaning sound as he entered him. He slipped in further and this time accompanied the sound with a similar one of his own, the tight heat a familiar welcome.

When they were both settled and the pinch of Jaskier’s features had softened a little, Geralt leaned down and kissed him. Chaste at first with a light press of their lips, it soon became more intimate, Jaskier reaching up to hold Geralt’s cheeks in his hands, Geralt sliding a hand up Jaskier’s torso and through his chest hair, both of them dipping and swishing their tongues each time their mouths met from a multitude of differing angles, neither able to settle for just one.

Eventually Geralt began to retreat but Jaskier pulled him back in for another soft kiss.

“Don’t get greedy,” he smiled, but allowed himself to be pecked at a few more times before giving a thrust that, while gentle, had Jaskier’s puckered lips open around an ‘ah’ and bump against his nose.

He began rolling his hips in smooth circular motions, dipping down to nuzzle Jaskier’s neck and kiss his shoulder.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt, moaning softly and running his hands across his back and up into his hair; he stroked over the hard line of his jaw with his thumb and pressed kisses onto the crown of Geralt’s head whenever his face was buried under his chin. It was the most tender Geralt had ever been in bed, and it felt absolutely wonderful.

Geralt groaned against his cheek, a restless groan, and began thrusting harder, gripping one of his thighs, and finally lifting his head. He was sweating, his cheeks and neck were pink, and his brow was furrowed. Jaskier reached down and started quickly pulling at his cock; he’d already come once, but he could feel the possibility of a second, and he knew Geralt wasn’t going to last much longer.

“...I think…” he panted, “…I think…I’m going to spill again…”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, caught the strain on his face, then looked down between them, watching his hand move rapidly over himself. Jaskier never managed to spill twice in the space of an hour, he normally took a while to recover from the first, but...there was a single moment of silence, a slowing of his fist, a small whimper, then Geralt saw a tiny, withered spurt exit the tip of his cock and dribble onto his belly.

It was certainly modest, but whether it was the novelty of a second climax from him or the sight of such a feeble offering pushed out with such an almighty effort, it was enough to bring Geralt to completion, and he abruptly ejaculated inside Jaskier with a staggered groan.

He felt the clench around him, Jaskier milking every drop until he was finally done, but even after Geralt had finished, utterly sated, he chose to stay inside him just a little while longer, just a little, enough to share Jaskier’s gaze, smile at him breathlessly, and receive the same in return.

He pulled out and lay on his back.

===

_On the seventh day in town, Geralt didn’t return to the inn after supper but accompanied Jaskier to the fourth tavern for his final evening performance. After the last song, he heard him nattering to the barmaid, extoling the virtues of a particular wine from Toussaint, one he’d talked about so frequently recently that he suspected even Roach could tell you of its ‘nutty hints’._

_He took advantage of Jaskier’s distraction, and wandered past him, glancing furtively at the coins in his case. He was a little disheartened to see how small the amount was. Yes, Jaskier’s lyrics had a lot to be desired, he knew that himself, commented on it frequently, but he had given it his all: charm, humour, showmanship_ — _the works. He deserved more. All the same, Geralt, eyed the pile, noting the size and distribution, and added it up in his head._

 _“I just think your more distinguished patrons would greatly appreciate the nutty hints and subtle citrus tones of_ — _Geralt, there you are. I have just been giving this nice young lady my advice.”_

_Geralt turned to the barmaid and offered her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” The barmaid gave an awkward smile of her own and scurried off while she got the chance._

_“Come, Jaskier,” he said, patting Jaskier on the shoulder and giving him a reassuring shake. “Let’s go home.”_

_Later, while Jaskier was fast asleep on the bed, still in his clothes, Geralt got up and checked the pile left on the table, and began adding it up._

_When he finished, he let out a long, quiet sigh…_

_It was the same amount._

_Jaskier hadn’t been giving him a ‘fraction of his wealth’ at all. He’d been giving him everything he had made. He hadn’t been spending his money because he had no money to spend. And he’d been tirelessly playing at all the taverns so he could even offer this much._

_He crawled back onto the bed and pulled Jaskier’s boots off one at a time. Jaskier made a few mumbling sounds, but soon fell back asleep. Geralt tugged the blanket up over them both, and watched him silently._

===

“That was lovely,” Jaskier said dreamily, staring up at the ceiling, “just…lovely.” He turned to look at Geralt and saw the peaceful expression on his face, his cheeks still awash with afterglow. He heard a small ‘mm’ that sounded like agreement, and smiled at him fondly. “I’m getting a bit hungry now though. I’ll be ravenous by morning.”

Geralt stretched his arms then lay with them behind his head. “I might. _Might_. Have some honey cakes in my pack.”

“The ones with the raisins!?”

“If that is indeed what they are.”

“Oh-ho, you smart, handsome man, you.” Jaskier shuffled closer, resting on his elbow, and began idly playing with Geralt’s underarm hair. “You know, you probably have enough coin to buy a little bakery, if you wanted to.”

Geralt chuckled. “I don’t want a fucking bakery, Jaskier,” he grinned, then hesitated for a long moment before adding: “But… perhaps now you won’t have to play at every tavern in town.”

For a few seconds Jaskier didn’t react, but he then let out a sharp laugh. “Ha! What? You think I did that to—”

“—Or give me all your coin,” Geralt finished seriously.

Jaskier fell silent, then, knowing there was no point in continuing the charade, gave a heavy sigh. He thought he’d been rather convincing, thought he was being smart. It had affected him that night, Geralt sitting by the campfire beside that empty willow basket, looking so dispirited. He knew Geralt would never have taken the money if he had known what he was doing. “Ah well. You got me. Clever you.” He expected that Geralt might be rather smug about his discovery, but for a few moments he was quiet, then:

“I… appreciate the effort,” he said a little awkwardly.

Jaskier gasped and looked up. “Geralt of Rivia! Is that a ‘thank you’?”

“Yes. One of those,” Geralt smiled, but he was only jesting, and was gentle and sincere when he finally said it. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier leaned up and kissed Geralt’s cheek, quick enough to have it done before he was shooed away. “You’re welcome.” He thought for a moment. “So… was that the reason for… all this? A thank you?” He didn’t mind if it was, the idea that something he had done had impacted Geralt in a meaningful way was reason enough to be pleased, he was just curious.

“The wine, yes,” Geralt replied. “The cakes, perhaps. The rest, no.” He didn’t really know how to explain it. The gifts were a bonus really, a benefit of his recent wealth, but he had decided on the rest last night before he even knew of it. Jaskier had done something thoughtful and unexpected for him, and while nowhere near as significant, Geralt wanted to make a small, unexpected gesture of his own: not just the offer of something that he had previously denied Jaskier, that was fairly trivial, but rather… the offer to continue it, to… compromise a little more.

Jaskier saw Geralt thinking, knew that he wasn’t satisfied with his own explanation, but he needn’t have worried. He understood. He smiled at Geralt, one of his reassuring ones, the ones he gave when he needed him to know that they were on the same page and all was well.

Geralt recognised it, and it was a relief to see. He smiled back, relaxed, and settled comfortably on the pillow.

“So, is it true?” he asked lightly. “About your gaggle of whores?”

Jaskier laughed. “I have no idea. I heard a blacksmith at the Drunken Sailor mention it after his tenth ale. Apparently, you can watch them each stick a feather up their arse for an extra two orens.”

“That’s certainly… creative.”

“Not really my thing either, but each to their own.” Jaskier twirled a lock of silver hair around his finger and gazed thoughtfully at it. “…Talking of feathers. I wonder whatever happened to Fluffy.”

Geralt sniffed. “Probably got eaten by a wolf.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier chastised, slapping him on the arm.

“What I _meant_ to say was that she probably… found a new home…”

“Mmm.”

“...Met a… handsome cock —stop sniggering, Jaskier.”

“Sorry.”

“...She no doubt had some… ahem, baby Fluffy’s…”

“Heh. ‘Baby Fluffy’s’.”

“...And is now living a full and happy life. Or at least as full and happy a life as chicken can have.”

“That’s nice,” Jaskier sighed, then stretched an arm out and felt around for his book. He lifted it up in the air above them both, looked at it, shrugged, then casually tossed it on the floor.

“Not finishing your book?” Geralt asked.

“My horse is currently trotting along on his merry way, and yet he will eventually meet a poignant but most tragic demise, I can tell. And do you know, Geralt,” he said, snuggling into him, “I rather prefer a happy ending.”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier who lay on his chest, absently tracing patterns on his skin with the tip of his finger, his dark eyelashes lowered, his lips set in a contented smile. Geralt blew out the candle and rested his head back on the pillow, feeling the comfortable heat and weight of Jaskier on top of him.

“Me too,” he said.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!
> 
> This is definitely the fluffiest (not the chicken) Witcher fic I've written; it was impossible to avoid with a Happy!Geralt. :D He wasn't such a snark here (which I secretly prefer writing XD), but I hope you still found him a bit playful. :)
> 
> This is now the fifth Witcher fic I've written, and I've had lots of fun so far! I usually mention that while all my Witcher fics can be read as standalones, they can also be read as a series with minor progression in each. This one however, has a lot of callbacks to my very first Witcher fic 'Company': Geralt not 'sucking cock' XD, Jaskier's terrible flirting (and hunger pangs after sex), even 'the song about the three-legged goat' makes a return among other things. They've had a few sexcapades since then, but I thought it might be fun to prod the first one, I do love me some good ol' fashioned continuity.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm off for some suspicious honey cakes. :D


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